


If Pastries Be The Food Of Love

by ABadPlanWellExecuted



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABadPlanWellExecuted/pseuds/ABadPlanWellExecuted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Pete's World, the Doctor and Rose take their new TARDIS for a test drive, and terrible literary offenses result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Pastries Be The Food Of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helplesslynerdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helplesslynerdy/gifts).



> Written for helplesslynerdy, either as a present or as revenge -- I haven't decided. Also, my apologies to Shakespeare.

“You’re sure she’s ready for this?”  Rose leaned against the console of their brand new TARDIS and ran her hands over the sleek panel of controls, many of which were courtesy of Torchwood’s tech department, both knowingly and, well, _not_.  She tapped her finger against the new gravitronic field converter and tried not to think too much about that.  “A test run’s a pretty big step, Doctor.”

The Doctor was lying halfway inside the panels of the central console, nothing but his long legs and red converse visible.  “No need to worry.  We’ll be fine.  She’s a good girl, yes, she is.”  As his voice dipped into a loving coo, one hand reached up to pat the edge of the central coral.  “Anyway, I’m rigging up a chronometric trans-temporal tether just in case, so matter where or when we end up, we’ll be able to return to this point in time and space.”

Rose grinned, tongue between her teeth.  “And that’s safe, is it?”

“Oh, totally.”  Just then, the snap of electrical sparks could be heard, mixed with some liberal alien cursing. 

Rose crouched down and peered under the console, but he was too far in to see properly. “Probably should have said ‘reasonably’ there, yeah?” she asked innocently.

The Doctor chuckled in response.  There was a series of metallic clangs and the whir of the new sonic screwdriver, and then he slid out from under the console and hopped to his feet.

“Alright, that’s done.  Now then, Rose Tyler,” he said, drawing out her name with a wicked grin, “where do you want to go?  We should probably keep to Earth for this first trip, but backwards or forwards in time—your choice.”

Rose grinned back and bounced on the balls of her feet.  “Maybe we should find out about what’s different in this universe.  Like the zeppelins or something.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “You want to go back in time and watch the Hindenburg not crash?”

“Oh.”  She thought it over.  “Yeah, s’pose that’d be a bit boring.  Well, where do you think we should go?”

He tipped his head thoughtfully.  “You know, there was a place or two I went, after you were…gone, that I always thought you’d have liked.” 

“Oh yeah?”  She reached out, tugged lightly on his tie.  “And where’s that?”

The Doctor grinned and leaned in to press a quick kiss to her lips.  “Oh, I know exactly where we’re going.”  He whirled away from her, spinning around the console and flipping switches left and right.  “Hold down that yellow lever there.”

Rose did as he instructed and clung on to the edge of the console as the ship began to shudder and rock.  “So what’s the destination?”

“February 2nd, 1602.”  The Doctor’s fingers flew over the console controls, and he waggled his eyebrows at her.  “We’re going to go see one Master William Shakespeare.”

._._._._.

“Well, look at that!” exclaimed the Doctor proudly as he threw open the doors, revealing a narrow cobblestone road lined with houses and shop fronts.  Up ahead, a woman in an apron and kerchief was sweeping the front step of a shop, and a man in breaches pushed a cart full of apples. 

The Doctor viewed all this with satisfaction before turning back to the TARDIS.  “Spot on!  That’s a good time machine,” he crooned, patting the side of the young ship.

“It’s cleaner than I would have expected,” said Rose, looking up the tidy road thoughtfully.  “And there’s no smell.  You sure this is right?”

“Oh, absolutely.  And if memory serves—and if pertinent events in this universe are the same as the other—we should be just in time to catch the very first showing of Twelfth Night at the Globe.”  He reached out and caught her hand, pulling her in close.

Rose smiled and tilted her head up for a kiss before asking, “Which one’s that one, then?”

The Doctor’s face fell just a little.  “Didn’t you ever read it?”

“No A-Levels, remember?”  She shrugged.  “I probably did, but school wasn’t really my strong suit.”

“But…but,” he said, dismayed, “what about all that studying you did after we were separated?”

Rose laughed.  “I was trying to build a transdimensional travel cannon.  D’you think Shakespeare would have helped with that?”

 The Doctor pursed his lips.  “Well, we’ll have to do something about that.  Twelfth Night, Rose, the last of Shakespeare’s great Comedies.  It’s all about the triumph of love.  ‘Journey’s end in lover’s meeting,’ and all that.”  He slipped his fingers through hers and, with a tug, started them walking. 

“Sounds appropriate,” commented Rose, squeezing his hand.

The Doctor looked down at her and grinned.  “Oh, yes.  ‘I do adore thee so, that danger shall seem sport,’” he quoted, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“Well, that’s just our whole lives, right there.”

The Doctor laughed and started giving an overview of the plot.  As he continued to wax poetic about Shakespeare’s brilliance, something odd caught Rose’s eye.  Just up ahead, there was a chalkboard sign out in front of the door of a tavern, listing the daily specials, which somehow didn’t seem particularly Elizabethan.  Rose frowned at it and then blinked when suddenly, the board went blank, and a new set of specials appeared. 

Letting go of the Doctor’s hand, Rose crouched down by the sign.  Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a display screen than a chalkboard.  “That’s weird,” she said, prodding it lightly. “You know, I don’t think this is—”

_WHOOOSH!_

Rose leapt to her feet, and the Doctor spun around, craning his neck upward to stare at the train of little cars, all of them packed with shrieking people, that was rushing over their heads. 

“Doctor,” said Rose uncertainly once it had passed, and the deafening roar had ceased, “was that a…a…rollercoaster?”

The Doctor was squinting upwards, his mouth hanging open.  He closed it with an audible click.  “Yep.  Looked like it.” 

He pulled out the sonic and pointed it up at the sky.  As the device buzzed, the otherwise invisible rollercoaster track flickered faintly into view.  “Huh.”

 Rose looked around again at the pristine scenery, the overly tidy streets.  “This isn’t 1602, is it?”

“We-ell,” said the Doctor, drawing out the word, “I’m thinking no.  Not unless this universe has made a major and asynchronous leap forward in amusement park technology.”

“Not that I know of.  Oh, but look,” said Rose, tugging on his arm, “isn’t that a kiosk?”  She jogged forward to what looked a lot like a little market stall.  Upon closer inspection, it was filled with little pamphlets and a cleverly disguised cashpoint.

Rose pulled out one of the pamphlets and started reading.  “‘Shakespeare Land.’  Not terribly original, that,” she commented.  “Built in 2301, now celebrating its 50th anniversary.  Well, that answers that question.”  She looked up at him.  “It’s 2351.”

The Doctor was staring at the pamphlet in horror.  “‘Shakespeare Land,’” he spluttered.  “Shakespeare Land!  That’s…that’s terrible!  Nothing like that ever happened in our universe!”

“Weird,” said Rose, tucking the pamphlet into the back pocket of her jeans.  “Wonder why.”

“No idea.  Well, back to the TARDIS,” sighed the Doctor, rubbing his neck absently.  “Probably need to go back over the chronometer inputs, or maybe realign the control matrix.  Maybe if I fiddle with the—”

“Now wait a minute,” protested Rose.  “We’re here, aren’t we?  First time exploring this universe?  Might as well take a look around.”

The look he gave her was scathing.  “A look around a Shakespearean-themed amusement park?”

She stared at him.  “What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that!  Rose, we’re talking about one of, if not THE greatest writer of the English language.  A man who created words so powerful, they…they defeated witches!”

Rose blinked.  “Come again?”

“Long story.”  The Doctor waved it away.  “The point is, his work should be respected.  Studied.  Performed.  Celebrated.  Not…commercialized.”  He wagged his finger at her sternly.

“Well,” Rose hedged, glancing around.  “Maybe the park’s very…educational.”

With a thunderous roar, the rollercoaster rushed over their heads again, and the veins on the Doctor’s forehead bulged out.

“Could be a very informative ride,” said Rose, struggling to keep a straight face.  “C’mon, at least let’s get something to eat.  There was that little tavern back there—smelled pretty good.  Go sonic us up some credits, and we’ll get breakfast.”

It took some coaxing, but after a not-insignificant amount of teeth-gnashing on the Doctor’s part, he finally gave in.  The Doctor acquired a credit-chip from the cashpoint, and they made their way back to the tavern.  Inside, they were greeted by a cheerful lady in Elizabethan garb, who led them to a table. 

“The ‘Polonius’ Fishmonger Sandwich’ is good today,” she said as she poured water into two goblets and set them on the table.  “Or if you can’t decide, I’d recommend the ‘He Hath Eaten Me Out of House and Home’ All You Can Eat Buffet.’”  She passed them their menus.  “Your server will be along in a minute or two.”

Rose opened hers.  “Look’s like it’s one of those ‘breakfast, lunch, and dinner all day’ sort of places.”

The Doctor was mouthing ‘Polonius’ Fishmonger Sandwich’ with a look of horror on his face.  A moment later, he snapped open his menu.  “Oh, this is terrible.  ‘Capulet’s Chopped Steak,’” he read with an air of tragedy.  “‘Falstaff’s Fat Rump Roast.  Titania’s Faerie Frittata.’  Rose.”

“Oh, did you want lunch, then?  Hmm, I still think I want some breakfast.  Let’s see…”  She scanned down the list.  “There’s the ‘Green-Eyed Monster Omelet.’  ‘Romeo’s Ravishing Egg Roll-up.’  ‘Oh Brave New World That Has Such Pancakes In’t!’”  She snickered at the last one.

The Doctor was staring at her like a man possessed.  “Rose,” he said firmly, “I’m serious.  This is it.  I can deal with all the zeppelins, I can handle your mother having her own chauffer, I am even willing to play nice with Torchwood—but this…this is the limit.”  He reached out to grasp her hand, his eyes pleading.  “We have to move to another universe.”

Rose rolled her eyes and tugged her hand free.  “Would you stop being melodramatic and pick out what you’d like to eat?”

The Doctor just slumped forward until his forehead hit the table, and then buried his head in his arms.

Rose perused the foods listed under ‘A Course, A Course, My Kingdom for a Course!’  “Wow, they’ve quite a variety.  ‘Once More Unto The Breach Battered Ram.’  ‘Hamlet’s Ghost Ghoulash.’  Hmm.  You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had goulash before.  Is it good?”

The Doctor whimpered into his crossed arms.

Rose ignored him and continued reading.  “‘Queen Mab In A Snout;’ that’s a ham sandwich.  ‘Let Rome Into The Tiber Tuna Melt.’  Wonder what sort of bread they have.  ‘All My Pretty Chicken Nuggets!’  Mmm, that sounds good, though I guess I’d have to see about the sauces.  Oh, and look,” she said, turning the menu’s page, “you can pick your main dish and then get something extra from the ‘Beware the Sides of March’ list.  Hmm, I could get a ‘Rosemary for Remembrance Roll’ or something called ‘Benedick’s Sauce Devised to It.’”  She paused, thoughtful.  “I don’t get it.”

There was another whimper from across the booth.  At that same moment, a waitress approached their table, wearing a dark brown dress and a white apron.

“And what can I get for you good people this fine morn,” she said with an obviously put-on demeanor, looking between the two of them.  But when the Doctor didn’t deign to raise his head, she seemed to become concerned. 

“Hey,” she said, in a much different accent, “you alright there, mate?”

Rose rolled her eyes.  “He’s fine.  And he’ll have the ‘Out Damn’d Spot o’ Tea’ and The Bard’s Blueberry Brioche.”

The waitress made a note of it on her pad.  “And you, miss?”

“I think I’ll have the ‘What Light Through Yonder Window Breakfast.’”  Rose folded up her menu. 

The waitress nodded.  “Did you want the ‘It Is The East and Juliet Is The Sunnyside Up Egg Special’ with that?”

A horrible, long-winded groan erupted from the lump of Doctor, and the waitress looked at him with alarm. 

Rose rolled her eyes again.  “Don’t worry about him—he’s just having a little existential crisis.  Think I will have the eggs, thanks.  Oh, and the Apothecary’s Poison Latte, please.’”  She passed the menus to the waitress, who, after one last look at the back of the Doctor’s despairing head, departed.

 “Doctor,” said Rose.  When he didn’t respond, she leaned over and poked one of his arms.  “Doctor.  It’ll be ok.  I’m sure people in this universe still have the appropriate amount of respect for Shakespeare.”

 He muttered something grumpy and incoherent.

“You just need some food,” said Rose bracingly.  “And I think they’ve got some fancy drinks.”  She plucked a little card out of the little metal holder at the end of the table and read it.  “You could get a Milkshake—” the Doctor tentatively raised his head, “—of Human Kindness.”

With another groan, he slumped back down.

“Is it really that bad?” asked Rose, somewhat mystified.  “I mean, it’s just food.”

The Doctor looked up just enough to gaze at her with tortured eyes.  “Yes it’s that bad.  Shakespeare was a genius; his writings were works of art.  And now they’ve been reduced to…to…”

“Greasy spoon fare?” she asked calmly. 

“Yes!”  In a flash, he was sitting up, fisting his hands on the tabletop.  “Exactly.  The man was an artist, Rose, an absolute artist.  His words had power and beauty and…and a timeless wisdom that lasted through the ages.  How do you think he’d feel about…about…”  He twisted around over the edge of the booth and seized a menu for a neighboring table.  “Something is Rotten in the Steak of Denmark!” he read accusingly.

Rose frowned.  “What’s that, then?”

The Doctor squinted at the item.  “Uh, steak served with green eggs.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “Ugg, do they have to be green?  Anyway, it could be worse.”  When he just glared at her, she shrugged.  “It’s better than fading into obscurity.”

“Is it?  _Is it!_ ”  He brandished the menu at her and then flipped the page with a snap.  “‘Get Thee To A Bunnery Cinnamon Buns.’  ‘To Sleep Perchance to Ice Cream.’”  His voice was scathing.  “Bubble, Bubble, Toil And Trouble Tapioca’ WITH Eye of Newt gummies!”

“Is that all they’ve got on the dessert menu?”  Rose tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully.  “Never really cared for tapioca, myself.”

 With an overdramatic groan, he collapsed again.

The waitress returned with a large platter and Rose’s coffee.  “Here you are,” she said, depositing the plate laden with breakfast food and setting the cup down next to it.  “Have a care; the plate’s a bit hot.”

“Thanks, looks great,” said Rose with a smile.

“And I’ll be right back with the brioche.”  The waitress bustled away.

Rose tucked her napkin onto her lap and took a sip of her latte.  “Mmm, pretty good,” she said, licking an extra bit of whipped cream off her upper lip.  “Which play’s the poison thing from, again?”

The Doctor’s words were grim and muffled.  “Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh, right.”  Rose looked her coffee over appraisingly.  There were no outward signs of either romance or tragedy about it.  “You know, I just don’t think they were trying with this one.”

A moment later, the waitress returned.  “Here’s your tea,” she said, setting a steaming mug down near the Doctor’s elbow, “and here’s your brioche.”  She lowered the plate down with a bit of a flourish, and rightfully so—the brioche was enormous, packed with blueberries, liberally dusted in powdered sugar, and emitting powerful deliciousness rays practically visible to the naked eye.

“Ooh,” said Rose appreciatively.  The waitress nodded proudly.

“That’s the house specialty.  Oh, and here.” She produced a small assortment of jam jars in a little silver rack.  “Them’s homemade,” she added with a smile.  She looked back and forth between the two of them, Rose with her fork already in hand, and the Doctor, who was just starting to peep up over the top of his folded arms at the enormous confection in front of him.  “You folks need anything else?”

“No, I think we’ll be alright,” said Rose.  “Thanks.”

After the waitress had departed, Rose leaned across the table, reaching out with one finger to take a swipe of powdered sugar off the brioche.  She brought it back to her mouth under the watchful eyes of the Doctor, who was now raising his head.  “Mmm, that’s really good.  You know,” she said slowly, “if your literary sensibilities are too offended to eat it, I’ll give it a go.”

His eyes flashed, and he reached out to pull the plate closer.  “That’s alright,” he said smoothly.  “As long as it’s here, might as well not let it go to waste, and you have your own breakfast to eat.  Besides, that’s one of those important human things, right?  Eating breakfast?”

“Most important meal of the day,” Rose intoned seriously, taking a forkful of eggs.

 “Exactly.”  The Doctor tucked his napkin onto his lap and started perusing the jam jars.  “Ooh, raspberry.”  With a pop, he opened the lid and started spooning some onto his plate.

Rose took a sip of her coffee and watched him over the rim off her cup.  “So how do you think ol’ Will would feel about that?  You giving up on your principles and all.”

 The Doctor paused and then shrugged.  “Well, just because I am virtuous doesn’t mean there can’t be cakes and ale, I suppose.”

Rose hummed.  “You should know, though, Doctor,” she said, leaning in with a little smile, “we’re getting on the rollercoaster, too.”

He sighed, resigned, and took another bite.  “I must really love you,” he said through the mouthful, getting some powdered sugar on his suit.

“Oh yeah?”  She grinned and tapped the toe of her trainer against his under the table.  “How much?”

The Doctor swallowed and then leaned forward a little himself.  “‘With adorations and fertile tears,’” he answered.  He slid his fingertips along the underside of her hand, ghosting along her palm and then stroking the delicate skin of her wrist.  “‘With groans that thunder love.’”  A little closer now, his mouth just a hair’s breathe from hers.  “‘With sighs of fire.’”  He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

Rose made an undignified squeaking noise, and the Doctor grinned and leaned back, nipping a piece of ham off her plate on his way.

“More Twelfth Night?” she managed.

“Mmm-hmm,” said the Doctor around the ham.  He looked immensely pleased with himself.

“Well,” said Rose, running a hand over her mouth.  “Yeah.  That was…yeah.  You were right.  Shakespeare was quite a writer.”

“Once we get the TARDIS fixed, I’ll take you to meet him.”  The Doctor used his fork to cut another piece off the brioche.  “But, er…”  He waved his fork at the table at large. “Don’t tell him about any of this.”

“It’s a deal,” said Rose, and they smiled at each other.

 


End file.
